This is the tale of a teacher. Normally, you would think that this story would include a tale of extravagance, adventure and other things that a teacher lacks, and you would be right. But what if I told you that this wasn't your ordinary teacher
[[Triggers include: Human in Equestria; Human Superiority; Gryphons; some cases of Russian; Military Life; Psychological Experiences.]] [[If you are subject to dislike from any of these Triggers, then do not bother reading the story, or disliking it, as you didn't read the story, now did you?]]
Enter, from left stage, an elementary school teacher for the young gryphons of Yadrolev. Here, he teaches the fifth grade math, language, science, and art. He has been doing this for twenty-one years, and is a very well-respected member of society. Before he settled down to teach, he had reached the ripe old rank of Colonel in the military, and was an elite Special Operator. He was awarded with a great many commendations, and was a war hero for his country.
Here's the catch: he's not a griffon.
One thing's for sure, he's not your ordinary teacher. In fact, he's anything but. This is his story of how he got to where he is now, and what he's doing as a schoolteacher, of all things.
((Now rated "Teen" for some cursing and random acts of violence.))
The classroom’s clock ticked away while twenty-three pencils scratched away. The teacher sat at his mahogany desk by the wall opposite of the door, making additions with his quill to the roll of parchment in front of him. A little alarm clock sat next to the teacher, proudly displaying the time his students had left, which was thirty-four seconds.
The time passed rather quickly, and before they all knew it, *BRRIIIINNG!!* “Alright, everybody!” he announced cheerily, standing up from his cush leather chair. “Time’s up! Pass your papers to the gryphon in front of you, and I’ll come and pick them up.”
Some of the gryphons groaned, not having finished the last few questions. When the ten-minute pop quizzes were all in a neat-ish pile on each front desk, their teacher snagged them deftly into his grip, quickly counting them as he collected. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two...huh, he thought as he reached the end of the row. Flipping quickly through the stack, he looked at the names at the top, picking out two or three who forgot theirs.
“Mister Greyfeather, could I see your quiz, please?” It wasn’t a question, but that was the point.
“Yeah, I’m almost done!” came a young, scratchy voice from the back row, column two. “Aaand, there! Here you go, Mr. N!” The scrawny grey-on-gold griffon stumbled out of his seat, and trotted up to “Mr. N.”
The teacher nodded, taking the paper from the cub, “Thank you.” Before he shuffled it in with the rest of the class’ work, he took a glance at the bottom of the page. “Nice work, Armet. Is that you slaying a monster?” he pointed out a caricature of the lad killing what looked like a hydra, if the four, sorry, three heads and bloody stump were any clue.
The rest of the class giggled, making Armet blush as we walked back to his desk, somewhat ashamed, “Yes, sir,” was his downtrodden reply.
“What’s the problem? It’s actually pretty good. Better than anything I could have drawn when I was your age,” he said, walking back to his own desk.
“R-really?” Armet stuttered hopefully, surprised that Mr. N of all people, wasn’t always good at drawing, considering Mr. N also happened to be the school’s art teacher.
He laughed goodnaturedly before replying. “Oh, yeah, definitely! Mine were more like itty-bitty stick figures!” he shook his head just as the bell rang for lunch. “Alright, you little cretins! Get outta here!” he shooed the students, who all but ran out of the classroom, cheering the whole while.
Mr. N sat down in his plush chair, placing the stack of paper next to his correcting quill. Reaching down under the desk, he pulled a waterproof lunch pail from a black canvas rucksack. From it, he pulled out a steak sandwich with lettuce, cheese and tomatoes on a sliced Prench baguette, a bottle of some clear liquid that didn’t smell like water, and a bag of potato chips.
But, what’s strange about this lunch is the fact that gryphons can’t eat cheese or potatoes. The cheese has enzymes that would make a gryphon sick, and the potatoes can’t be digested by a gryphon’s stomach, which would make them really sick. So, it’s only natural to assume that Mr. N is not a gryphon. If that isn’t enough proof, then this is: two gears on the sides of his smooth, black head whined into activity, raising his reflective glass faceplate up a few centimetres over the black beret he always wore to allow him to eat his food.
As for the rest of him, he wore a long, black leather trenchcoat that hung about mid-calf on his long legs, a mantle attached to the coat that went to mid-upper arm, and black leather boots and gloves as well as black canvas pants. Now, you might be wondering what such an alien being is doing teaching at an elementary school for gryphons.
The answer is simple: he doesn’t know either.
As he peacefully chewed his delightful sandwich, he thought about nothing except the taste of that one single bite. He thought about how the cheddar cheese tanged against his taste-buds, the crunch of the iceberg lettuce and the bittersweet drip of the the tomato, all accompanied by the smooth, creamy sweet-and-sourness of the homemade mayonnaise and the tender, meaty juiciness of the divinely succulent beef steak, seasoned to perfection with garlic and coriander. All of it contained within the soft, moist bread with just the right amount of toughness to it.
He savored this single, first bite, humming as he chewed slowly to experience each time the ambrosia touched his tongue. When he swallowed the pulpy mass of meat, bread and vegetable, he was somewhat sad to have that very first bite gone.
For about a second.
Like lightning, he devoured the sandwich, quickly and cleanly. Not a single crumb touched his desk, and the entire thing was gone in just under a minute. Lightly dabbing his obscured mouth with an unnecessary napkin, he reached for the bottle of clearly-not-water, and unscrewed the cap. He put the bottle to his hidden lips, and drained the glass container of the highly alcoholic, and illegal in most countries, draught.
Hearing the thud of a dropping jaw, he looked up to see Armet Greyfeather, still in his seat. The boy’s lower beak had made an impossible contact with the desktop a couple dozen centimetres below where it should have been possible.
Mr. N nonchalantly popped a lightly curled chip into his mouth, and said, “You’re gonna catch flies if you keep that up.”
The young griffon picked his beak up from the desk, and shook his head in amazement. “What are you?!” he almost shouted in bewilderment.
Mr. N merely chuckled, crunching down on another crispy piece of heaven. “You want the whole thing, or just the Cliff’s Notes?”
Not having any idea what “Cliff’s Notes” were, Armet assumed that it was a shorter version of the story, if Mr. N’s tone was any indication. “Uh, th-the Cliff’s Notes, sir.”
He shrugged, eating another chip. “Okay, I am a human, Homo sapiens sapiens, to be precise. I am a Colonel of my people’s military, and I’ve been here in this world for about forty-three years, trying to get back. I gave up after a while, and decided to see if I could settle down for a bit. As an officer, I had to have some advanced education, meaning I have a few college degrees to my name. So, I chose to be a teacher, as it’s something I wanted to do after I retired from my military career. Any questions?”
Armet’s mind was boggled. Was his teacher really from a different world? That would certainly explain a few things about him. After thinking about it for a moment, Armet nodded his head, “Yes, sir. Would you tell me about how you got here?”
Mr. N looked at the clock for a moment, and deciding that he could excuse Armet for being late to music class after lunch, conceded to the little griffon. “Well, I don’t see why not. It all started about forty-three years ago, back in my world…”
The night was chill, and not a single star was out. The clouds were thick, and covered up the starry sky from view below, and only the barest hint of the full moon peeked through the cold blanket of condensed vapor. There was a light drizzle, the air bringing in a mist from the sea to veil the land in fog. It was a wonderful night, if one were to listen to the ponderous patter of rain on the earth below, the noise of crickets and other nocturnal creatures, and watch the way the clouds wisped across the moon. It was a perfect night.
A perfect night for me, that is.
With a movement so faint and quick, I leaped from my perch on the roof of a barn, landed and rolled in the soft, wet grass below, narrowly avoiding a rather damp pie left by one of the cattle in the farm. Rising to my feet, I hefted a rather large and sleek rifle in my gloved embrace. I bounded across the wet pasture, making not a sound amid the white noise of the rain.
[/HR]
“What’s a ‘rifle?’ ” Armet interrupted Mr. N, confused by the new word.
He shook his head. Of course the lad wouldn’t know what a rifle was; they hadn’t been invented. “It’s like a crossbow, but it doesn’t have a drawstring.”
“Then how does it shoot arrows?”
“No no no, a crossbow fires bolts, not arrows,” Mr. N corrected him, waving his hands dismissively. “A rifle is what you’d call a ‘firearm,’ in that it uses a small explosion to propel a small metal object faster than sound.”
Armet’s eyes dawned in realization, “Oh, so it’s like a cannon, but also a crossbow?” the image that was created by the small griffon was rather comical to see.
“Yeah, kind of, but probably not how you imagine it looks. Anyway, I all but flew through the night towards my destination...”
[/HR]
...I leapt atop the fence of the old pasture, and stepped off onto the road just a few centimetres from the fenceline. The gravel crunched and rolled beneath my feet, but I barely noticed it, save for the sound. I lowered my stance somewhat, and treaded more carefully along the path. The effort lessened the sound I made to the point that it couldn’t be heard over the slight wind and pitter-patter of the raindrops.
After about half an hour, I reached the rendezvous, which is a point where two or more people are supposed to meet to complete a goal of some sorts. In my case, I was meeting one of my comrades, another member of the Stalker Corps. Where I’m from, Stalker is one of the elite members of our military, extremely stealthy, smart, strong and most of all, deadly. The last part is in the job description, so we didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
“Ready, Nikhilus?” my partner, Ottenok, asked over the local comms frequency as I pulled myself up the grotto.
“Good to see you too, Otto. Shall we dance?” Otto looked almost exactly like me. Same clothes, same armor, same weapon. The only differences were our body builds and the twin bars on each of his epaulets, signifying his Captain rank.
He shrugged, “Tango’s in the city, penthouse of the Storona Hotel.”
“Vector?” I asked Ottenok how we were going to get there.
“Now now, Nicky, don’tcha think that you should take me to dinner first?” Personally, I didn’t find it all that funny. He thought it was hilarious. “Well, Colonel, if you insist. We’ll be taking the high road in, skipping stones along the way. After that, we knock nicely, and meet our guy.”
I nodded. Taking the rooftops was a good idea, especially in the metropolis of New Saveta. “Well, in that case, ladies first,” I lazily flipped my hand towards to towering city.
Otto mimicked the motion, “Age before beauty.” I gave up the banter, and just pushed him forward. “Okay, okay! I’m going!”
[/HR]
The bell chose that time to ring, marking the end of lunch. “Aw, man! You didn’t even get very far!”
Mr. Nikhilus chuckled lightly, “Well, I suppose time flies rather quickly, especially with a good enough story. Although, I still haven’t gotten to the part where I wound up in the Dragon Badlands…”
Armet balked. “The Dragon Badlands?! How did you survive?” the young griffon queried, the fact that lunch was over completely forgotten.
“Well, I suppose I could tell you, but I’ll have to skip over just how, exactly, I got taken from my world, and into yours,” Mr. N kicked his feet onto his desk, the remains of his lunch disposed of and tidied away. Armet nodded with an energy that is heir only to small children his age. “Okay, but you’ll miss out on quite the adventure.”
Armet thought about this for a moment, and decided on a nice median. “How about you tell me from when you got to that ‘Stone Hotel,’ or somethin’, and then the Badlands!”
Nikhilus shrugged, and conceded, “Okay, that seems like a fair deal. You’re missing out on a few other things from the way to the Storona Hotel, but alrighty then.”
[/HR]
We were on the roof of a building directly next to the hotel. Our skyscraper only came up to the nineteenth story of the hotel, piercing the sky with almost thirty stories of its own! “So, how do we get up there?” Otto asked, standing on the ledge of the office building we were on. While he sat there wondering, I was taking a few steps back.
“We’re gonna have to climb, but where from--whoa!” I ran past him, jumping off at the right moment and I activated my jump thrusters, their jets propelling me forwards and upwards into the air. I sailed about ten metres, which was the distance from our building to the Storona before crashing into the plate glass on the other side. Looking behind me, I watched Otto shrug before pulling the same stunt as I did before land next to me on the glass, both of us holding onto the frame of the window.
Using our boosters, we leap-frogged up to the penthouse of the hotel. Once there, we smashed through into the apartment using our sidearms, spreading broken glass all across the carpet. The reason why we had broken into the building is another long story; one I might tell you someday, if either of us remember to ask.
The two of us dropped our stance, pistols at the ready, and crept through the room, keeping our scanners looking and our eyes and ears open. Neither of us spoke, but we did use visual signals, like hand gestures and moving our heads. The penthouse was dark, which our intel told us meant that our target was either not home, or he knew we were coming.
Most likely the latter.
The penthouse was a big place, spanning the entire top floor. These kinds of things are usually reserved for big wigs and a megacorp CEO or two, which made sense, considering who we were after. Although, a question that was on both my and Otto’s minds was why Damon would reveal himself in such a public way after everything he had done.
“What did this Damon guy do, anyway?”
“I’m getting there, calm your feathers, shorty.”
As we stepped into the apartment’s kitchen area, we found it converted into, whaddaya know, a trap! Damon was there, gun in one hand, the other fumbling around with the machine he was working with. “Don’t come any closer!” he yelled. “If you do, this thing might get a bit cranky!”
Of course, we stopped in our tracks, trained to take threats like this seriously, especially with what he had done.
“Oh, come on! What did he do?!”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older, but you gotta let me finish.”
“Come on, Damon! Give up! You know that if that thing blows, you’re going with it!” Otto tried to reason with him, but I knew how futile it was.
Damon shook his head, laughing to himself before raising his gun in response to us shifting our aim. “Yes, I suppose so. But isn’t that a fair price for salvation? The debt that all men must pay?” He grew even more crazed as he shook his pistol at us, “you must think me a fool! Well, a fool I may be, but I’m doing what is right!
“For the good of existence, humanity must end, and I with it!” He was all but foaming now. He faltered for a moment before reaffirming himself. “Yes, I’m going to save you...I’m going to save you ALL!!” He began laughing maniacally before the machine clicked and glowed blue.
Reacting, I charged at him before he could activate the device, and I tried to turn it off. Maybe if I was lucky, I could disconnect the wires.
However, before I could even touch the bomb, it sparked once, and blinded us all with its light. I reacted more than act, and shot the damn thing, and it detonated.
[/HR]
“And then what happened?!” Armet bounced with excitement.
Mr. N chuckled to himself and looked at the clock. “Well, I guess that part of the story is for some other time,” he told the very smart young lad, smiling behind his faceplate. “Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow, maybe when you’re older.”
The young griffon’s face fell at that, “aww, you always say that…”
“Well, that’s because I will. Also, I’m getting replaced this year,” Mr. N said, seemingly changing the topic.
“What?! Why!” Armet grew upset that he won’t be seeing his favorite teacher again.
“Well, I have been asked by the Board of Education to start teaching high school physics classes, so you’ll be able to ask me for the rest of the story then.”
Confusion crossed Armet’s face as he heard those words, “But, I thought physics was mostly balloney. My mom says it is, and she’s always right!”
Mr. N laughed a bit as he started to grade today’s pop quiz. “Well, I suppose that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Nikhilus paused before continuing, “well, some things. But if you don’t believe what someone tells you, just ask somebody else to make sure, okay?”
The boy’s grey-feathered face ruffled slightly, before settling back down. “Sure thing, Mr. N,” he said before heading back to his seat when his classmates began pouring through the door, chattering amongst themselves about random things, like what movie somegriffon went to last night, or somegriffon thinks that so-and-so is really cute. You know, stuff that elementary kids, er, gryphons say.
Mr. N shuffled the quizzes back into order, then stood up to return them to their owners, each one graded amazingly quickly. “Alright, everybody! Go grab a book and go back to your seats, we’re gonna learn Cyrillic!”
Every single child, except for two or three, groaned in response. “Oh, come now, it’s just like the gryphon language Starrian, just older and a bit different!” Stares were given. “Okay, a lot different.”
An airplane soared into the airspace of the classroom, accompanied by a few laughs. “Hey, if you’re gonna make a paper plane, at least make it look cool,” Mr. N said, snatching it from the air, refolding it into a Hornet-pattern with one hand before throwing it back at Vernon Redeye, a larger griffon.
Soon after, Nikhilus dove into the lesson, teaching the students each of the letters of the Cyrillic alphabet, and each sound they made.
Armet lay in his bed, the crickets outside chirping away, barely heard through the smooth, stone structure. Mr. N’s story was keeping him awake, making him wonder what the humans were like in their world. What kind of technology did they have? Apparently, humans were masters of the craft, if one of their mistakes could send Mr. N into Armet’s world. What would have happened if that ‘bomb,’ it was called, worked properly?
Or worse, what if it did, and Mr. N’s arrival into the Badlands was a mere fluke?
Yes, this was what kept Armet from drifting into the warm embrace of slumber. His bed while uncomfortably hard for ponies, was just perfect for a young griffon, and Armet found great comfort in his. And yet for all its snuggly warmth, the lad couldn’t find an ounce of exhaustion in his body.
So, he climbed out of bed and walked downstairs from his room into the kitchen. He opened the brand new refrigerator that his mother purchased to see what there was inside. Food, food and food. All of it delicious, none of it appetizing.
Sighing at his futile struggle to find a midnight snack, Armet went into the parlor to look out onto the cobbled street in front of his home. The newly commissioned streetlamps glowed with a soft yellow light, cast by a alchemical creation known as a sunrod, and its creators promised that they would last until just after dawn.
The rain came down in a light drizzle, and there was no thunder in this weather. This far west, and Yadrolev’s weather was just spinoff from the Sea of Ghosts, one of the few places on the planet that governed its own weather. Gilderheim’s climate was somewhat wet, but not too much so, and the odd thunderstorm swept through the relatively large city during the summer.
This train of thought reminded Armet of that one lesson that Mr. N taught the class when Allard Redhawk was asked him why the weather was so random in Gilderheim. What had followed were multiple headaches from the math, and something called the Omega Formula, or something like that. Mr. N said that it was what his people used to predict what the weather would be like for the next few days.
But they couldn’t have predicted what happened to him. Armet shook his head, clearing away these thoughts before he could delve too deeply. He turned his focus back outside at the rain, watching the minute drops spatter against the cobbled roads, listening to the light buzz from the storm. Armet was tempted to go outside and smell the rain as it fell, but didn’t want to risk getting in trouble for being up so late.
A few moments later, the rain seemed to increase in intensity, no longer the driz that it was. Now, the sky had broken out into a full on rain, and the wind picked up to the point of blowing a tumbleweed across the street. Armet briefly wondered where one of those came from, but the event was followed by a dull flash of light. The young griffon looked at the cloudy night sky as best he could from the window.
The air rumbled softly, thunder echoing across the sky. Armet squinted his soft blue eyes at the storm, watching intently for another strike of lightning. Within a few seconds, one does flash, outlining multiple silhouettes in the raking claws of the electricity on the blackened sky. At first, Armet assumed that they were bits of stuff on the window, but another flash shortly afterwards completely dismissed that idea.
And as if that weren’t enough, the blue-armored bat-ponies on the rooftops were.
Because of where he lived, Armet could see the school from his bedroom window, and because the ponies were going that way, he quickly darted to his room as quietly as he could. As soon as he reached the top step, he stumbled slightly, knocking a small glowstone onto the carpet with a tiny thud. He stood still, worried that it would have woken up his changeling caretaker, Gamarts.
Armet rushed to put the lightly glowing model of Mr. N’s homeworld, he called it “Terra,” back in its stand. The carefully carved glowstone was a Hearth’s Warming gift to Armet’s mother last year, as a show of appreciation for her own military service. Once it was as close to how Armet thought it was before, he carefully bolted to his room’s window to catch another glimpse of the ponies.
All four of them were a few rooftops away, and were definitely headed towards the school. Why they were here, Armet hadn’t the slightest clue, but he would find out. He threw on his two jackets, one a slightly tattered plaid green cotton and the other a blue on black windbreaker. He popped the grey hood of the cotton jacket over his grey-feathered head to keep the rain off of the feathers before carefully trotting back downstairs, his wings now through the special holes in the sides.
Armet opened the door after unlatching all the locks, then grabbed the key of the wall, stepped outside and locked the door behind him. Now out in the rain, Armet took flight, blinking rain out of his eyes as the drops landed on his skinny face. He was going to follow these ponies, and see why they were here.
The golden-brown furred griffon flew above the rooftops, and flew off towards the school through the rain.
[/HR]
[/HR]
Armet landed next to the flagpole of the school, the flag taken down while nobody was there. The ponies had gone inside a few moments before he arrived, and Armet assumed that they broke in somewhere. He quickly ran to the front doors, and wrapped his claw around the pull bar. The door was still locked, and so he moved around to the outside doors of each classroom, starting with the second grade, going to the fifth. Each door was locked, but when he reached Mr. N’s classroom, lightning flashed and revealed his door leaning on its hinges.
Armet’s heart clenched in his chest, and his young mind started to panic. Just what do those darn ponies want with Mr. N?
He wanted desperately to run away now, but he told himself that he was already here. He just had to know what was going on! Maybe his mom would think he was really brave for standing up to the bad ponies, and Crystie would like him! The thought of that white and pink griffin gave him little flutters in his chest. She was a nice girl, smart, pretty, never said a bad thing to anyone…
That train of thought was interrupted when the thunder from the previous lightning bolt caught up to the flash, the rumble somewhat muted by the rain. Armet steeled himself. He was going to make Crystal Goldencrest notice him, and his mom proud! He took three steps forward, and immediately started hopping on his hind legs, trying to get an impossible piece of wood out of the scales of his left claw.
Ignoring the offensive piece of wood, he watched his step more carefully, a slight limp in his gait. Armet cautiously stepped over the threshold into the classroom, and saw one of the ponies behind the huge desk, sifting through Mr. N’s things, making a mess with his hooves. Armet’s breath got caught in his throat, stopping where he stood to see if the pony saw him.
Luckily, he hadn’t, because he let out a groan of frustration before going to one of the book-cases. Armet caught a glimpse of the pony’s wings, and thought, What an odd pegasus, when he noticed the lack of feathers. He tried his best to get behind the pony without him noticing. When Armet was standing right behind him, he paused and held his breath. When he was sure the pony still didn’t know he was there, he picked up a fairly hefty object and swung it at the intruder’s head.
The pony went down, he was a hero! He silently cheered at himself, pumping at the air with his fist before the pony groaned in quite femininely. Armet’s first thought was Oh, crap I just hit a girl! before he went into a small panic, thinking about what his mom would say. Obviously nothing good, but that still didn’t stop him from thinking about it.
And the final nail in the coffin chose that moment to walk in. “Hey Blossom, find anything?” another pony asked when he walked into the room at that time. The voice startled Armet into hiding under the desk and hoping he wouldn’t get caught. Some part of his brain started counting down the seconds until Blossom’s unconscious body was found by her friend…3...2...1…
“Blossom?!” the voice whispered in shock. He spoke louder, “Whoever is there, show yourselves!” Armet stayed put, scared out of his wits. When he heard the pony’s hoofsteps touch the floor with a muffled thud, he noticed that the rain was louder than it was earlier, and he could hear his own breathing.
He heard the pony bend down to his friend and presumably check her pulse, but Armet couldn’t be too sure, as he couldn’t see the two ponies, not that he wanted to. He just didn’t want to be here, or be responsible for hitting a girl!
Armet’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when the pony’s hooves were right in front of him, standing behind the desk while he looked for the griffon. Hot blood pounded in his ears, his pulse quickening in anticipation. Would he be found? Was he gonna die?! Armet didn’t want to die! He wanted to live, be an firefighter, or something cool like that!
Armet held his breath, trying to be as quiet as possible...the pony walked past the desk, leaving Armet under it.
Then his nostrils itched.
Before he could stop himself, he gasped, and let loose a resou--AH-CHOO! All was quiet once more, even more so this time. Only the storm outside gave noise to the situation indoors, thunder occasionally sounding over the white noise of the rain.
Armet was too afraid to move, but he hoped that the pony couldn’t find him, and then he could get away and go home, back to his warm bed on the second floor of his mom’s house, go back to sleep under the soft blankets, and dream of being a firefighter. Armet was so thoroughly regretting his decision to come here, he was wondering if the pony would find--“Gotcha, ya little twerp!”
Armet’s coat was grabbed by the pegasus, and he was dragged out from his hiding place. The griffon shut his eyes tightly and yelled, “Let me go! I didn’t do anything!”
The bad pony chuckled almost metallically, “Of course you didn’t. You’re too cute to beat up a team of pegasus Night Guards by yourself, Armet.”
Armet’s eyes flew open at his name, and he recognized the owner of the voice, “Mr. N! Why are you here?! How did you find me?”
The man rolled his eyes behind his faceplate, “pfft, finding you was easy. You’re a loud panicker, honestly. I’m surprised that guy didn’t find you under my desk!” The giant lowered Armet to the ground. “A firefighter wouldn’t be scared like that, eh.”
Armet blanched. He hadn’t meant to say anything! Was he really that bad? “W-what?” He shook his head, his face graced by an indignant frown. “I wasn’t scared!”
“Hah,” Mr. N scoffed, “course you weren’t. You were just hiding from bad things because reasons, amirite?”
Armet could just imagine Mr. N’s raised eyebrow, or whatever worked as one under that helmet of his. He didn’t really know what “amirite” was, either, but it sounded like, “am I right.” So, he nodded, because that was definitely the answer!
Mr. N’s reaction was warm, his laugh spreading into Armet, despite the mechanical filters of the helmet distorting it ever-so-much. “Yes, of course you were, but don’t worry. I won’t ask you why because your reasons are your own, even if they get you into trouble.” Mr. N walked around to the back of his desk and started to put everything into a suitcase he pulled out from nowhere in particular. All of his files, knickknacks, stationery and books went in, and when there was nothing left out, he closed the case. He had put so many things into it, Armet wondered how it all fit in the tiny box.
“Well, we certainly can’t stay here, so I’m afraid we must return to your home. These pegasi,” he nodded towards the two slumped by the desk and the pair in the doorway, “will wake up in a few minutes, and we really must get out of here as soon as possible.” With that. he strode out the broken door, leaving Armet with the unconscious ponies.
“Are you coming?” Mr. N poked his head back in, the rain dripping down the glass faceplate in spattered rivulets. Armet scampered after his human teacher into the rain outside.
[/HR]
“And that’s how the Soviets got wrecked,” Mr. N finished his tale, accenting it by sipping at the black coffee in his hand, pure black liquid bliss scorching a burning trail down his throat.
Armet sat amazed, his own cup of cocoa steaming with chocolatey perfection through the whipped cream on the top, and his beak. “So, basically the Novans--”
“Yup,” he sipped.
“And the Estovakians--”
“They did,” he slurped.
“So the Stjerneans--”
“Never seen again,” his voice muffled by the coffee mug.
“Ah,that makes sense.” After that they sat in silence, Armet sipping through a straw and Mr. N chugging his two-litre coffee mug without pause. “Humans are weird,” he concluded with another sip.
Mr. N nodded in reply, lowering his now empty mug from his steamed faceplate. “And that was in 2064, 149 years before I was born and we had colonies on other planets. Good thing it was the Novans who won, because otherwise the Soviets would have messed everything up, what with their crazed fanaticism and close-mindedness. They would more likely have blown up any alien life they found, or just nuked the planet instead.”
“So, who was the Lord Marshal?”
“The oldest man ever at 270 years old, even though he was mostly synthetic. I met him personally, and he told me a first-hand account of the Great War.”
Armet shifted in his seat in the parlor of his home, Gamarts now asleep on the loveseat by the window, his own cuppa joe untouched. He was gonna need it in the morning. “Why did you join the military?”
“Well,” Mr. N paused, thinking back in time fifty-three years to when he enlisted. “That’s a good question. I guess it was because I wanted to fight for what was right, or at least what I thought was right. One thing is for certain, though; I don’t regret a single moment of it. In fact, that’s our motto: ‘Never forget, never regret.’ Simple, yet meaningful.”
Gamarts stirred in his sleep, the old changeling wriggling into a more comfortable position. Armet looked at the clock on the mantle. 4:27, A.M. Good thing there wasn’t any school tomorrow. “So,” he said, “why were those ponies at the school? What were they looking for?”
“Me. Or rather, proof of a crime that I may or may not have committed in the past. Let’s just say that I’m not exactly on friendly terms with Equestria, and they’d probably imprison me first chance they got.” Mr. N looked down at the coffee barrel in his hands, shoulders slumped in shame.
“Oh,” Armet looked at his hot cocoa the same way, minus the shame. “Maybe you could peel the court, or something?”
Mr. N shook his head, “First, it’s ‘appeal to the court.’ Second, the Equestrian judicial system is Tribunal in origin, just like that of Yadrolev, but the aristocracy of Equestria is so corrupt that many of them are prejudiced against people like me. Especially their Princess.”
Mr. N stood up, taking Gamarts’ coffee and downing it almost instantly. He reached out to Armet’s half-drank cocoa and offered to refill it, which the young griffon accepted. Mr. N returned later with Armet’s new cup with more whipped cream and chocolate shavings.
“I’ve done things I’m not proud of in that country, things that would take too long to fully explain. To summarize, I was what you’d call a sell-sword, or a mercenary. I was a military consultant for hire, as well as a tactician for the grimy stuff that the noble court was too unwilling to handle themselves. They needed someone done in, and I obliged, provided they paid the right price. I never really liked doing that, dishonorable as all get out. So, I left the business shortly after the Blueblood family screwed me over on a deal.
“So, the Equestrian Royal Guard had a bounty on my head for false charges of kidnapping, theft, murder, and treason. When the gryphon Jarls caught word of me, they wanted my services, and got them by offering protection. The price was fair, but I did things that were wrong according to human law. So, after fifteen years of serving Jarl Ohnmar, I retired from that business and went into academia. Needless to say, my reputation here in Yadrolev grew from being brutish and cunning, to powerful and wise. Of course, a few favors from the Jarl managed to get most of those stories quieted down, thank whatever gods were looking out for me.”
Mr. N took a breath in his rant, sitting back into the plush leather sofa. “Now, I’m here as a teacher, and the Equestrian Government has found me. I can only hope that her Royal Highness doesn’t show up--”
The door chose that moment to slam open, a blazing light glaring into Armet’s eyes. The sound, though, jolted awake Gamarts, the changeling tennant now cowering behind the couch. “Agent Nikhilus, you are under arrest for war crimes against Equestria! Submit and be peacefully detained, or resist and face the consequences! This is your only warning!”
And in that doorway stood Princess Celestia in her blazing glory, decked in full battle armor and a complement of Royal Stormtroopers with her. “Yeah,” the man in question spoke up, nonchalance flowing from his voice. “Well at least you kept off the Royal Caps Lock, so points for that!” He stood up and slowly clapped his hands, the sound of ballistic canvas colliding the only sound in the room, aside from the still raining outside. “But, no. This is Yadrolev, Sunbutt, and ya gots ta adhere to the rules in Yadrolev! You could be charged with breaking and entering a military sanctioned residence and disturbing the peace. You know what time it is? Too early for this shit, that’s what!”
“M-m-mister Nikhilus! L-language, sir!” the elderly changeling flanged from his hiding place. “There are children in the room!”
All eyes went to Armet, whose eyes were still wide with shock at Celestia’s appearance. It took a few seconds, but he said, “What?” Such elegance, many wow.
“You cannot hide behind griffon law, traitor! Undoubtedly you were not invited into this home, and your changeling accomplice are holding this poor foal captive!” the pony Princess said blatantly.
Armet interfered, using his own knowledge of griffon law, “Hey! I’m no foal, I’m a griffon!” he puffed his chest out at that, even though it was scrawny and he went up to a guardspony’s barrel. “Besides, I invited him in, and Gamarts is our tennant. He’s legally ob-leh-gay-tuhd,” he stumbled with that last word, “to live here and pay rent, so there!” The notion did not go unnoticed by the old bug, who smiled and almost visibly looked younger from the subtle love to the words.
Celestia peered down at Armet with one eye, “Well, did you know that changelings are notorious for fooling ponies in order to steal love from them?”
“Well, how do you expect us to be able to eat?!” Gamarts bristled and hobbled to confront Celestia. “These griffons were kind enough to offer an excommunicated changeling to live with their son, even if they knew what my brothers and sisters do! They willingly allowed me to earn my way into their hearts, and willingly give emotions. Your ‘ponies’,” he spat the word, clearly laced with venom, “refused to give me a chance! I never took another’s form when I was severed from the Hive, and I want to live an honest life! Do not throw me in with those conniving skeevers of Chrysalis’ Hive, because I’m no longer one of them…”
Armet gave his watcher a small hug, the changeling now appearing much older after the outburst. Mr. N’s heart was warmed at the display of familial affection, and turned to the Solar Monarch with a tired anger in his concealed eyes. “Honestly, Celly,” she bristled at the nickname. That was solely reserved for Luna! How dare he? “I’m tired of all of this banter. As far as I know, you don’t even have a warrant, and I sincerely doubt that any of the Jarls or their Stewards would do so.”
Celestia smirked, telltale of an Ace in the Hole. “Well, then you’d be surprised to learn that I have approached Jarl Theseus on the matter of your arrest, and he signed it.” Nikhilus lost, defeat evident in his posture. One does not go against a Jarl’s word lightly.
One doesn’t betray their honor either, and honor was an important part of gryphon civilization.
Mr. N stood up straight. I guess I’m beat, he thought, no other option than to buy a farm next to Otto’s. “Then there would appear to be no other option. How are we doing this, execution?”
“No! Of course not!” The ponies went green with the mere thought, while Armet’s and Gamarts’ faces turned somber. “You are to be tried, found guilty of all charges, and imprisoned in stone for one thousand years for your crimes. There is no other alternative suitable for a monster of your calibre.”
“You mean like how you imprisoned a draconequus for threatening to send your perfect world into chaos? Or how you sent your sister to the moon because she was a threat to your grip on Equestria?” Nikhilus muttered, the acidic words biting into Celestia’s guilt-ridden heart. The pony shock troopers looked to their Princess in confusion, shock evident in their slightly less sure stance.
“You will not speak of my sister like that, beast,” she growled darkly. “Guards, apprehend the monster. We shall not dawdle any longer.”
“Agent Nikhilus of the Gryphon Empire, you have been found guilty of all charges. Your sentence is imprisonment by stone, for one thousand years or until Royal Pardon, whichever comes first.” Celestia wanted to say “whichever came last,” but that would have been both defeating the purpose, and unfeasible. One thousand years as a great garden gnome would automatically revert him back, as that’s the way the spell works. Deep down, she was unsure whether or not she did the right thing in exiling the human to the recesses of his mind for company, but the rest of her felt the judgment was wholly justified.
As Nikhilus rose to his feet, he allowed the guards to take him by the manacles into the statue garden outside. The throne room was almost empty, as she was forced to leave a witnessing audience outside. Suffice it to say that the nobles that the human had crossed were thirsting for his blood. When the doors were hauled open by the magic of her trusted guardsponies, the clamoring and shouting of the Bluebloods rose in volume when they laid eyes on the prisoner. Guards had to fight to protect him from the mob of vile threats and journalists.
The ponies were pushed out of the way by the shield generated by Captain Steel Blockade, the best shield caster in 137 years. Never in a thousand years had Celestia thought her ponies would become so brutal. But, then again, her own attitude towards the human was far less than friendly. Too many times, Celestia thought, too many times have I forgotten how impressionable my little ponies can be.
“Princess Celestia?” She was brought out of her thoughts by one of her most trusted guards, Lieutenant Dewdrop. She was a pale blue pegasus with misty white hair beneath the enchanted armor. “You have a message from Ambassador O’Gill of the Deer,” she said while giving the monarch a small metal disk with a glowing green emerald in the center.
Celestia took it in her gilded hoof. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I will see what it is O’Gill wants after Agent Nikhilus’ sentence is carried out,” she waved off the guard as she turned to leave.
“Actually, ma’am,” Dewdrop regained the Princess’ attention respectfully. “The transponder the Deer gave us marked it as important, your hooves only.”
Celestia sighed, “Very well then. I will answer the message after Nikhilus is encased in stone. Not sooner, Lieutenant, not later.”
Dewdrop felt rising anger at the Princess’ flippant inflection of her rank, but stifled it. “Yes, your Highness,” she grit her teeth as she bowed. Celestia left the guardsmare without returning the bow, sending another wave of anger through her heart. Dewdrop soon found herself doubting whether or not the stories of Nikhilus were true, and she strode off towards her brother Joe’s donut shop, which, while very popular, had opened only a few months ago in downtown Canterlot.
[/HR]
“Oh, would you look at that brute! It’s attire is simply atrocious! It serves no purpose in fashion other than coming across as evil, pure evil! Such a vile creature it must be, if it dresses like that,” Simply Gorgeous was the mare’s name. Eoin Reese’s life was awkward enough, having a Deer’s name. He didn’t need it worse just be related to Simply Gorgeous, even if he was his half-sister.
“Would you stow it, Gee?” he sighed exasperatedly. The alabaster white unicorn with dark pink, er, salmon, hair and baby blue eyes was always on his last nerves. Eoin himself had a charcoal coat with violet hair and blue eyes. He was taller than the average stallion due to his Deer heritage, but that was about as far as it went, aside from the knobby and gangly legs of a Deer. No cloven hooves, though, so it made him look like an awkwardly tall pony that had trouble moving in crowds. The advantage of such long legs were him being the fastest pony in the Lunar Underground, allowing him to smuggle supplies to the needy much more quickly than others in the ‘Ground.
Simply Gorgeous, who had no clue of her half-brother’s past-times, deigned herself to look up at Eoin and give a retort, “No, I will not ‘stow it,’ as you have so crudely said. I am a noble, and I have the right, nay, the privilege, to speak freely!”
Eoin had to fight hard to resist the urge to facehoof then and there. “Yep, because Celestia can make you shut up with but a word. Wow, such stupid, quite foolish.”
She gasped, “How dare you call me a fool! If you were not my half-brother, I would petition Princess Celestia,” she emphasized correctively, “to have you thrown in the dungeon with the rest of the rabble! Or, or! Imprisoned in stone, just like that poorly dressed creature there!”
“Meh, whatever. I’m going home, there’s no reason why I’m here, anyway.” That was a lie, of course. Eoin was here for a very special reason concerning Mr. N.
The cervine smuggler trotted through the crowd of roaring ponies, excusing and pardoning himself along the way. When he got to the entrance to the royal gardens, a pair of guards were standing on either side of the large wrought iron gate. Deciding that he couldn’t go that way, he began to search for another entrance, finding on in a stack of boxes set against a connected tower. How convenient.
Of course, the mere fact that the wooden crates were arranged in a stepway formation sent up quite a few red flags for Eoin, but who was he to leave an opportunity unmolested? Jumping up the stack would have been what ordinary ponies, but for Eoin, it was more like a stairway, and that’s exactly how he climbed them. He reached the top of the bird crapper known as a wall no sooner than a gaggle of nobles passed by, gobbling amongst themselves like sentient turkeys.
Safely on the other side of the wall, just barely hidden by a hedge, Eoin crawled on his belly to make sure that the area was safe for him to sneak along. He loved these conditions, ponies all around him, armed guards with the threat of arresting him for trespassing in a restricted part of the Royal Gardens. The feel of adrenaline-laced blood pumping through his system, into his ears and along his spine.
Of course, any other pony from the illegal realm of skulduggery would have preferred to have the high ground and invisibility.
Eoin crept through the gardens, the musty smell of fertile soil, plant life and gritty stone wafting into his nostrils. He slinked past one statue, a legitimate one, of a pony holding a scroll in its hooves as if it were making a proclamation. This particular path wasn’t restricted from the common pony, but for today? Better safe than sorry.
The half-Deer found a slight hole in the hedge dividing the public zones of the garden from the more private ones, but it was just barely too small for him to squeeze through without making a noise. Well, not without having a flexibility normally attributed to the Deer. This ability had gotten the smuggler out of many a tight situation. This was no exception.
Shrugging his shoulders and haunches, Eoin brought his profile even closer to the soft ground. A simple half-shuffle step with each hoof would find him through the gap in the topiary in but a few seconds. The synchronized hoofsteps of a guard pair went past the shrouded corner that Eoin was in, and he was grateful that he was already halfway through the hole, a small offshoot of the hedge keeping his hindquarters from view.
Just as soon as he was through, his tail snagged on a protruding branch, a single strand of purple hair left behind. Of course, the smuggle was so full of adrenaline that he hadn’t noticed it at all, so he continued on his way undetected.
“-and gentlecolts,” a melodic, motherly voice swam through the breeze, distorted by distance. He was getting closer, the shade cast by the hedges barely hiding a smirk on one of the other statues, one of a type of chimaera. Eoin’s tunnel vision, or as close to tunnel vision an equine can get, prevented him from noticing certain muddled shapes in the gardens. He pressed himself closer to one leafy wall, ears swiveled towards the circle of stone pedestals beyond…
[/HR]
“Hnnyeeaaugh!” The khaki pony’s jaws stretched in a massive yawn brought on by the lazy warmth of the midsummer day in Canterlot. Joseph Sprinkles, or Donut Joe, wasn’t getting very much business. Of course, it’s only been two months since he opened his little shop, but he did have customers, at least.
The donut shop just across the street, the Pastry Emporium, held all of the dough-related business in Canterlot, the customers flocking there because of their speedy service, cheap food and fluffed up quantity. In fact, Joe used to work at the Emporium before he quit. He was the best donut fryer there, but when they started making him put all sorts of new additives to make the pastries cook faster, bigger and, arguably, tastier, he had objected.
So, what do they say when the best fryer they have doesn’t like the recent change in operations? “Too bad, Joe. This is Canterlot, when the customers want more, we give them more, and get it to them faster!” Then they chopped his paycheck in half.
That was when he’d had enough, threw his paper cap at the manager, and stormed off. He used his life’s savings to buy the empty shop across the street, and lucky for him, it already had the equipment needed for making donuts, even if it was obsolete. His sister, Dewdrop Sprinkles, even offered to pitch in for supplies, and Joe graciously accepted her offer. Now Joe had a nice little donut shop on the corner of Pony Plaza and Star-Swirl Boulevard, and was barely scraping by.
The one thing he had over the Pastry Emporium was quality, even if only ponies from out of town preferred his wares. No, what truly matters to Joe was that he loved his work, making donuts by hoof with natural ingredients, as opposed to the machines and magically enhanced donuts from the Emporium.
“Heya, Joe! How’s business?” Corporal White Socks walked up to the counter, helmet strapped to his flank. When a Royal Guardspony was without their helmet, the glamour enchantment on the armor deactivated, allowing their true colors to shine through. White Socks was a crimson Earth Pony with his hooves seeming like he was wearing white socks. His twin, Red Socks, was the exact opposite, being white with, well, red socks. Both of them had green eyes with bright orange hair cropped short.
“Take a look for yourself,” Joe huffed, glaring daggers towards Ship Shape, the very store manager that inspired Joe to quit. “Pastry Emporium ain’t right usin’ magic and machines. Just don’t got the same soul, y’know?”
White nodded slowly while Joe started to make a dozen of his delectable donuts. “Yeah. You know? I actually went there the day after you left, and when they gave me a box from Fryer 12? I just couldn’t believe it! That was your fryer, and it just weren’t right, tastin’ the way it did. I didn’t even know you were actually gone until that first donut, and now?” He shook his head as Joe began frosting the batch with strawberry cream, the Socks twin’s favorite. “I can’t believe it, how, how perverted their donuts are.” White pulled out his coin purse, jingling out ten bits for the donuts, which Joe popped into the register.
“Wow,” Joe drew out, “I didn’t know you felt that way...You’re certainly gettin’ right smarter, though, usin’ them kinds of words.”
White Socks stopped eating his fifth donut in order to glare at his caterer when Joe’s sister, Dewdrop trotted to the kiosk, brow knit in frustration. “Whuf yo’ prmblerm?”
Dewdrop’s mood lightened somewhat when she heard White’s muffled question. “It’s this whole thing with that human. Something about it just rubs me the wrong way, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do...here, Eltee. Have a doughy,” White slid the box towards Dewdrop, who gently picked one up in her hoof. “I bet that this’ll all blow over, and ponies will forget the truth. Heck, they might not even remember what’s happening today in the next forty years!”
“Well, it’s only 957,” Joe pointed out. “A lot could change by the time that human’s forgotten by the nobles and us common folk.”
After that was a somber silence that none of them could break, even if they tried.
Eoin ran for his life, giggling through the black beret in his mouth. The guards that had been escorting Nikhilus were now running after him. Why? Well, the reason why is because the human gave the half-Pony, half-Deer his beret, and now Celestia thinks that Nikhilus is attempting to smuggle out a contingency plan, perhaps a way to escape his prison. It was Discord himself who admitted, while on one of those late night chats from the confines of his own statue, that humans could be much more chaotic than even an avatar of chaos. Very worrying indeed.
And so, while Celestia worked on encasing the soldier in stone, her guards were hard at work under purpose of national security. Of course, they have no need to worry, as Nikhilus gave Eoin his beret as a symbol of rebellion, a rallying banner, if you will, for the Lunar Underground, which is still unknown to most of Equestria. Those that are a part of it are very hush-hush about it.
Really, it was Nikhilus that started the Lunar Underground, a forum for the maintenance of knowledge and information that Princess Celestia allowed to disappear, either through sheer incompetence, or purposeful destruction. Being from the background where the wanton destruction of information of any kind being a felony punishable by death, Mr. N strove to restore and preserve the knowledge of this new world. Thus began the Underground, and it had soon grown to distribute goods and provide safety to those that had no protection of the Princess’.
When Eoin had told Nikhilus where he was from, the man gave the pony his beret with a white-on-blue patch of a crescent moon to use for recognition. Eoin was told to make copies of it with a special difference, a red border around the patch as opposed to the silver of the original, and dispense the copies throughout the Underground to its leaders.
Now, though, Eoin had to escape his new friends.
He bolted his way through the streets of Canterlot, the noisy clatter and clank of their armor just a few steps behind him. Whenever he thought that he lost them, one would be just around the corner, waiting to catch him. This went on for nearly an hour before he had a great thought: he would mingle with the crowds. Eoin decided that he would go to Pony Plaza.
So he charged down Canter Boulevard, sticking to plain sight and slowed his gallop to a light trot, his heavy breathing slowing to a slight exhaustion. Looking around the bustling Plaza, he spotted two more guards, which sent him on edge. Luckily for him, they didn’t have their helmets on, and so he recognized the pair as two of his only three friends in the Royal Guard. Dewdrop glanced his way before smiling and waving him over to Donut Joe’s.
“Hey, Eoin. What’s the matter, running from, some…pony…” that was when she noticed the beret between his teeth. She knew what it meant, as did the Socks twins and her brother, as they were all in the same boat.
Eoin reverently laid the black beret on the countertop, wary of stray sprinkles, “Yeah, we were making the exchange when Celly saw me. I didn’t even think she’d notice.”
“And that’s where you goofed, mate,” White Socks cut in.
“Yeah, you think I didn’t know that? Well, anyway, now I have a bunch of your comrades after me, and so to cut it short: hide me!” and with that, Eoin dove behind the counter as White and Dewdrop just shook their heads. A moment later, Eoins hoof came out of its hiding place just long enough to snag a donut from White’s box.
No sooner as it was hidden had three guards clanked up to the shop, clearly out of breath. “E-excuse me, ah, sir,” one of them panted out, “but have you seen a tall grey pony with a purple mane and tail come by here?”
“Yes, actually,” Dewdrop raised an eyebrow. “He went that way, down Prescolt Avenue. I assume he broke the law?”
“Y-yes, ma’am. He stole a black beret from the human prisoner that the Princess brought from Yadrolev.”
“Ah, then in that case, I’d go after him myself. Unfortunately, I’m off both duty and out of uniform, so you might want to catch up to him?”
The plucky guard nodded tiredly, having chased Eoin through half of Canterlot, before the trio left in that very direction. A few seconds after they galloped out of the Plaza, Eoin whispered, “Are they gone?” to which Joe replied by heaving the smuggler to his hooves. “Ah, thanks for the save, Dewey.”
“No problem, but next time, it won’t be something as important as this,” she pulled the beret out of her guardsmare’s bag of holding. Just after Eoin had hidden, she scooped the article into said bag alongside all of the bits she carries around. A bag of holding, an amazing creation made by the teamwork of unicorn mages and griffon alchemists. Guardsponies are issued one in order to collect evidence, or to carry more things. One for civilians are much more expensive, and are normally purchased by paranoid nobles to lug around all of their cash, or adventurers that delve into ancient ruins or even the Everfree.
“Yeah, I know,” Eoin muttered, scratching his head sheepishly.
Joe pulled out a washcloth and started wiping down his counter. It was already spotless, but the pony always did this when he was either nervous or thinking about something important. His sister took notice of it almost immediately. “Joe? What are you thinking?”
Wordlessly, he nodded. Eoin raised an eyebrow, glancing between Dewdrop and White for an answer before Joe finally spoke, “We’ll have to talk to the Boss.”
[/HR]
Well, this is certainly something I didn’t expect, Nikhilus thought aloud from the confines of his stone prison. It’s one thing to be turned into stone, but to have nothing but your own mind as company for the entirety of your sentence? That’s beyond cruel and unusual, and when it’s a Novan Specialist that’s saying that? You know it’s pretty bad.
Ah, I have a new friend! How kind of Celly to give me another roommate, and one that is actually interesting, too! The statue across from the recently stoned human appeared to be the approximate origin of the voice.
And, ah, if you’ll pardon me, who the hell are you? a pigeon fluttered to land atop Nikhilus’ helmeted head, just about where the beret would normally have been.
If the other statue could, it would have suddenly been wearing an Armani suit with a moustache and monocle. I wouldn’t have expected you to know me anyway, Nicky. My name is Discord, and I am the very embodiment of Chaos! If there is anything you need, please wait until I am released from this blasted shell before getting in line. Another pigeon perched itself on the statue’s lower jaw, looking like it was about to….well, you get the idea.
Well, right now you’re a toilet for the birds, so I’d close my mouth if I were you- oh wait!
The bird flew away, leaving behind a present. Oh, ha ha, you think you’re so funny, don’t you?
Nikhilus laughed as best he could in his immobile position, Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Just get over it, and wait until someone decides to clean you up, I can smell you all the way over here.
You know, that’s not exactly a good way to make friends, because it looks like we’re stuck with one another until you get free… Great, now Nikhilus almost felt bad.
Almost.
Yeah, well I don’t care right now. If you want to try to be my friend, go ahead! I just might not reciprocate the formalities.
That was that, as Discord just up and gave in. It’s not like he wanted any friends; he lived for a couple thousand years without them. But, still...at least one would be nice.
The two statues just sat there, Discord musing to himself while Nikhilus tried desperately to twiddle his thumbs. He should have made that pose, instead of the ‘heroic’ salute of his people. Holding one’s forearm ramrod straight to one’s right eyebrow all while standing stiff as an obelisk isn’t exactly a smart way to spend one thousand years. Yes, a comical pose would have been much better. Maybe he should have used only one finger for the salute instead of the regular stance?
Sooo....want to play a game? Mr. N offered when he gave up his futile attempt at passing the time.
[/HR]
“...and this is the Statue of Treachery. Can anypony tell me what this particular statue represents?” Miss Cheerilee waved her hoof in a showpony fashion at Mr. N, who just so happened to be singing “99 Trillion Bottles of Beer on the Wall” with the other participant of a practically forced friendship. Turns out, the two statues had a lot in common. Right now, they were on their 976,214th bottle of beer on the wall, and wouldn’t have been surprised if they had to start over after 55 years of their cursed song. As it is, they’re already on their ninth run through of the song, occasionally mixing the beer with rum, vodka, tequila and tonic.
Then a pink filly with a diamond-studded tiara scoffed, interrupting the statues’ song. “Well, duh! Treachery? You said it yourself, Miss Cheerilee.” Already Nikhilus despised the spoiled pony.
Instead of getting angry, which any proper teacher that wasn’t an elementary school teacher would have been, Miss Cheerilee rolled her eyes. “No, Diamond Tiara, but you are close!” If Nikhilus could have even moved his wrist, his hand would have been in a rough approximation of a very well known gesture. “This statue, while indeed representing treason and betrayal, was crafted one thousand years ago by Canterlot’s best craftsponies in order to demonstrate the dark and evil nature of a long-dead species, which was infamous for gaining somepony’s trust, only to betray that trust the chance they got.”
Really?! One thousand years ago? How did they get that from fifty years? And I didn’t betray anyone, Treason is a forbidden crime, punishable by death where I’m from! Mr. N’s rampaging rant was completely internalized, unheard by the ponies at his feet.
Shortly after they had stopped marvelling at the “craftsponyship” of Nikhilus, they moved on to Discord, who was rather smug at how they actually got his history right. Soon enough, three of the fillies had started fighting, one touched Discord’s belly, and boom! A wild crack appeared! H-h-hey! When you get out, wanna bust me too?
Hmmm...let me think… Discord broke out into cackles as Nikhilus metaphorically narrowed his eyes at the draconequus. Soon enough, Discord stopped, his laughter slowly dying down. Oh, all right. Just don’t look at me like that…
Yes!...Okay, so, we wait?
Yup.
Oh....Well, where were we? he said, practically scratching his brain. Ah, fuck it. 99 trillion bottles of beer on the wall, 99 trillion bottles of beer!
You take one down, pass it around, 98 trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand, 999 bottles of beer on the wall! Discord joined in, the pair now raucously jingling their melody, patiently waiting for the Statue of Chaos to break free. Yeah, it’s gonna be a little while…
Major Greyfeather groaned as he rolled out of bed. What does she want now, he thought. Scratching his back, Armet gladly took the cup of coffee his long-time friend Gamarts concocted into his claws. He glanced at the clock on his bedside, it was 03:29. “Too damn early,” he grunted.
“I know, but she just got back from Equestria.”
A slurp of straight black, “And?”
“She’s downstairs right now, practically asleep on her paws. Poor girl, she’s exhausted.”
A nod, “Alright, hang on a sec.” Greyfeather rubbed the sleep from his faded azure eyes. I’m getting too old for this, he mused to himself. He pushed open his bedroom door with one ruffled wing, and a small sniffle floated up the stairs. Oh boy…
Gilda was the spitting image of her mother, golden fur, bleach-white feathers and those same violet eye-feathers framing a pair of dazzling sapphires. Armet had lost count how many young suitors he had to chase off from her, and Gilda still hasn’t found a parter that was just right for her, except…
He sighed, “Alright, c’mere.” Gilda blinked her bloodshot eyes, and sniffed before stumbling over to her father. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked as she fell into his embrace.
A nod. She matched her dad in attitude, almost precisely. “It’s Dashie…”
Armet sighed in understanding, probably fell out. “What happened?”
“She doesn’t want to be my friend anymore…”
“And?”
A sniffle, “There was this one pony named Pinkie, or somethin’, and I-I was mean, and I dunno why I acted like I did. She was just trying to be nice, a-and I wasn’t.”
That was all he needed to know what happened. “Pranks?”
A moment, then a nod.
“Ah.” You see, while Gilda loved to prank people, she hated being pranked. It was something that she didn’t know how to handle, and struggled with trying to accept it for what it was. It had took him Gilda’s entire childhood to stop pranking her too badly, and even then, he slipped up from time to time.
They had been like that for a few minutes before Gilda let out a quiet snore. Smiling, he lifted her onto his back, occasionally adjusting her to a better position. Gamarts used his magic to try and hold her steady, but he had to be careful. He was starting to run out of love, and it was taking its toll on his changeling body. He had only barely managed to scrape by in the past fifty-five years.
Soon enough, the two best friends had gotten Gilda into her bedroom, which had been her father’s room all those years ago, and she was soon snuggling into her covers. Gamarts left to go back to sleep, and Armet found himself smiling down at his sleeping daughter, her face scrunched cutely as she get some well-deserved rest.
When Armet went back to his room, he found himself unable to sleep as he lay in the dark quiet of Yadrolev, crickets chirping and playing their song outside in the cool pre-dawn night.
“Well, crap…” he muttered quietly, knowing that sleep was now futile.
[/HR]
“How are you feeling?”
“Honestly? A little loopy...Is that bad?”
“No, of course not, Sweetie! That’s perfectly normal, although…”
“What?”
“Maybe you should stay home, just in case? Would you like that?”
“But, my friends! We were gonna go crusading today!”
“Oh, fine. I would have thought that a filly would have jumped at the chance to stay home from school.”
Sweetie Belle was sick. Well, kind of. You see, she had a Cold, which is something that had never been in Equestria, Yadrolev, Hirschland, the Zebra Wilds, or Grendelheim. In fact, the wee little virus that everyone has taken for a basic fact of life has never existed on the planet of Ionia, even though that isn’t what the races that live on it call it. That name was given to the little backwater by the humans who had found the system just floating static between the Milky Way and the Large Magellanic Cloud. While Ionia was perfect for colonization, it just wasn’t possible, or worth it, really, to spend time and resources just to discover eight other sentient species.
Nope, not worth it at all.
Sweetie Belle was possibly the only pony that called it by the name the Estovakian Union of the Soviet Republics gave it, naming it after one of their High Priestesses. The name just came to Sweetie in a dream, as she explored the space around her world alongside Princess Luna in her dreams. Except, Luna didn’t call it Ionia, and when Sweetie Belle asked her what it meant, she had replied, “Whatever thee desires it to.”
So, whenever she gets the chance, Sweetie uses her dreams to look at her world from above, in her dreams. One moment, she’s looking at one part of the planet with the sun and the moon directly across it at an angle, others it’s another part of the planet with the celestial bodies in a different position, and it’s never once the same view. Unbeknownst to her, she was accidentally linking up to a Novan deep space probe that had been launched seven years prior, just two months after she was born, in order to locate their missing agent.
So why the sudden interest in her own planet? Simple. Idle curiosity, bolstered by the fact that only three ponies in recorded history ever tried to study the shape of the world and the solar system beyond it. One of those was Star Swirl the Bearded, and he was only building onto the data collected by the two before him. In other words, mostly inconclusive, and they just figured out that the world was a little on the round side. Not much else, but certainly better than it being flat.
In other words, this is the first academic interest Sweetie has ever had since she discovered her ability to dream lucidly. Not something your ordinary unicorn has, right? I guess you could call it her special talent, even if she doesn’t think so. Yet.
After Rarity left her sister alone in her room, Sweetie Belle sniffled a little bit, snot accumulating in her nose. Using a tissue that Rarity left a box of on her bedside table, she blew said nose until most of the mucus was in the tissue. Of course, as every human ever knows, not all of it comes out, so she was left with her ears clogged, one nostril plugged and the back of her throat burning with the cool air that rushed through the other nostril, which had the little drip that just bugged the heck out of the poor filly.
In all honesty, the appearance of a virus that, even in the 24th Century of humanity’s Common Era they weren’t able to cure, probably meant it was a bad omen. But for Sweetie Belle? If she knew the words, she’d be able to only barely describe how she felt before Rarity scrubbed her mouth out with soap. Implying, of course, that she knew what the words meant.
Why is Sweetie Belle able to tap into human technologies in her sleep, you ask? Why, such a good question! The answer lies in the same reason that she, inexplicably, managed to catch a cold. It all happened on a crusade. The Cutie Mark Crusaders were attempting to get their Spelunking Cutie Marks, and they had found this strange, orangey grey rock, sitting in the middle of a cavern. It looked like the rock smashed through the cave’s ceiling, if the rubble around the circle of daylight was any clue.
As the trio approached, the rock beeped and a small red light popped through the side of the rock. As you may have already gathered, this was in fact an Estovakian probe with a payload of messages, written in the Arstotzkan, Novan, Grustonian, and Alvian languages, as well as many more. Sweetie Belle, being the more curious of the three, slowly inched towards the probe. The red light flared blue before winking out entirely, and it was only four days later that Sweetie Belle had found herself ill in bed, at this very time.
That same probe was a shared knowledge transmitter that the Estovakians sent to any planet they were unable to explore at the current time in search for sentient life. While the Soviet Sovereignty of Arstotzka, the Estovakian Union’s brother state, had preferred to maintain a xenophobic stance towards the Spatial Domain, Estovakia had much preferred to play the Peacemonger while searching for extraterrestrial life. The agreement made between the members of the Soviet Republics had stated that should any sentient xenos prove hostile, Arstotzka would step in and bring war in response.
Once again, Sweetie Belle was completely oblivious to this information, only knowing the name of her world, Ionia, and the approximate statistics of the solar system. It just so happened that Sweetie Belle was keeping a diary on her discoveries, and was unwittingly waiting for the chance to prove her findings. It’s rather amazing that Nikhilus had found himself so close to home, yet so far away. If only the United Novan Republics had been able to spare the resources to retrieve one of their SPECTRE operatives twenty-eight years ago, when they had received his deep-space transponder’s signal.
[/HR]
Consoles beeped and computers flashed their status lights aboard the UNR Winter Solstice. Captain Benji Sinclair stood at the helm, looking over his navigational officer’s shoulder. It had been seven days since the Winter Solstice set its course for Ionia, locked onto the beacon of one of the Estovakians’ probes. While Captain Sinclair would know nothing about it, the Spectre they were being sent to recover was very important. Everything else, as usual, was covered in black ink.
The Winter Solstice was a Hades-class battlecruiser, measuring 2,419 metres long, 912 metres across, and 466 metres tall. If you saw one in person, you might compare it to falcon, but bulky and slightly less smooth. She was equipped with two Zendikar-11c Fusion generators, a decent amount of gauss and particle weaponry, and one Kovarsky-Yamato Translight Engine. When in FTL, she could jump from one system to another using the Zenith and Nadir points of their stars, or make a blind jump for a distance of 250 light-years in two and a half hours. When travelling at sublight speed, two Z-11c’s could pump enough power into the gravimetric thruster to send it from one edge of a large system to the other in four days.
“How much further, Helmsman? Our round teams are starting to get restless.” Although he wouldn’t admit it himself, Benji was getting the same way, as this was the fifth time he’s asked Lieutenant Greene in half as many hours.
“Just a few more light-years, Skipper.”
“And how much is ‘a few’?”
“Oh, sorry, Benji, I meant a few hundred light-years. We’ll be just outside the system in four hours, so no worries,” he snarked. This was about one of the few times that Greene could call Captain Sinclair by his first name, Benjamin, or “Benji” for short.
Sinclair grumbled, “Oh, fine. I’m gonna get me a stiff drink, all this waiting’s killin’ me.” And he did just that.
The lift doors to the CIC opened with a hiss, allowing Captain Sinclair into the sterile white environment. He pressed the button for the Officers’ Lounge, and the lift took him three decks down. The elevator silently whirred to a halt, and opened to let in the musty smell of the darkened lounge. In the back corner, seven people, all of them shock troop regulars, were playing strip poker, and to the dismay of the three men, their female companions were winning.
“What did I say about playing strip?” Benji growled angrily as he stomped over to the table.
“Not without you,” they stated boredly, the clamor well-rehearsed. It would have been good, too, if some of them weren’t already so drunk as to have trailed behind or ahead of the others.
Sinclair smiled, “And to not get too wasted. At this rate, we’ll have to put some of you beer-buckets through the Energizer.”
All of their faces turned green, it was never fun to use the Energizer, as it purged your system while refreshing your mind. The experience was never pleasant, and it was worse if you were drunk. That’s why most preferred to sleep during transit.
“You just had to ruin the mood, didn’t you, Benji?” Major Osinov said, throwing her subordinate’s lost T-shirt at him.
He caught it, smiling, “That’s the captain’s job, isn’t it? Come on, deal me in, we got four hours to arrival, and we might as well spend it having fun, am I right?”
The other troopers cheered at that, Corporal Stauss the least clothed, and the most drunken, of them all.
Much to the disappointment of Discord, his freedom had taken a bit too long to arrive, the crack slowly spreading as the spell weakened. It had taken one whole day for it to wear away enough for Discord’s own chaotic nature would overpower the harmony that kept him bound. Of course, it was all aided by the dawn of a new day.
“Oh, good gravy, that took forever!” the draconequus stretched his limbs, the mismatched appendages falling off when his back popped. “Ooh, yeah, that feels great!”
Yay, you’re free, Nikhilus deadpanned. Now for your end of the bargain?
“Hold on, I’m getting there,” one scaly arm began to inch its way towards Mr. N’s pedestal. “Well, kind of.”
The arm was just about to touch the granite before the hand started panting from feigned exertion, drops of sweat rolling down the wrist. It wiped the sweat away with a “Phew!” and lightly tapped Nikhilus’ statue.
“There you go, old pal,” Discord said, now in one piece. “Whoever said I didn’t keep my promises? You should be out in, say...seven days, tops.”
What?! You’re leaving me here for a week? Eh, whatever, I’ve been here for fifty-five years, what’s another seven days?
“That’s the spirit! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some revenge to take, ponies to corrupt, the usual.” Discord snapped his paw, and he was gone, a puff of green smoke in his place.
Now all that was left for Nikhilus to wait seven days for the spell to wear off. Nothing too special.
89 trillion, 917 billion, 412 million, 27 thousand and four bottles of rum in the hold, 89 trillion, 917 billion, 412 million, 27 thousand and four bottles of rum! You take own out, guzzle it down, 89 trillion, 917 billion, 412 million, 27 thousand and three bottles of rum in the hold…
[/HR]
The moonlight shone brightly in the sky, glinting brilliantly off of the river down below. The air hummed with a chorus of sounds, insects buzzing their mating songs, leaves rustling in the light summer breeze, pollen carried aloft in the embrace of twisting air currents. On the ground, the tall grass whispered and waved in the soft night. Small clouds were scattered in the sky, decoration from Cloudsdale that cast shadows on the earth as they passed over the moon above.
Yet all of this was largely unappreciated as the small town of Ponyville slept, unknowing of the few that trotted down the main street, bathed in the shadows of the thatch-roofed bungalows and houses in the town.
One of them stopped in the middle of the street, the moon high on the dusk-shrouded horizon sending a silhouette, tall and disfigured, to rest on the road. The abnormally tall pony turned to look at the full moon, and almost basked in its glowing light. A whisper of silence reminded him of his mission, and he turned away, his shadow flickering from existence as suddenly as it appeared.
The pony crept swiftly to the shadows of an abandoned home, three dark shapes dressed in the same black robes as he. “What’d you do that for?” one form, a mare by the tone, hissed.
“Just enjoying the beautiful night,” Eoin whispered evenly. “Why else do you think I still go on these trips? Because it certainly isn’t the pay.”
“None of us do it for the pay,” another shadow murmured.
The four of them nodded in agreement in the noise of the quiet, creaks and groans of homes as they settled punctuating the silence. As one, the four Nightingales, as that is what they called themselves, moved on as if they were never there, and when the town had awoken, none would be the wiser.
Their mission was simple: get to the orphanage, leave the money inside, then get out.
Separately, the four darted past moonlit alleys, holding low to the ground and dawdling not a second longer. When it had turned Eoin’s time, he heard the faintest of whimpers as he passed the alley. On the other side, he froze. As the Spectre had taught the Nightingales before they gave themselves the name, if you think you’ve been found, freeze and don’t move a muscle.
That’s what he did, and when the other three turned to look at Eoin, they followed suit and waited...a sniffle floated out of the alley. The Nightingales shook their heads, already knowing what was up, silently pleading for Eoin to not. Fucking. Do it.
Well, of course he fucking did it.
Eoin turned around and peered into the alley, sticking his head in the opening just enough to see most of the other side without casting a shadow. There were a few boxes, all stacked together neatly next to a garbage can. He held still for a moment, and the moments turned into minutes. The other Nightingales had left Eoin behind, all he was needed for was to help keep an eye open, and he was known throughout the Underground as the sharpest eye in Equestria, able to tell the differences between one pebble and another with a passing glance.
To almost all Nightingales, that very sound was the worst to hear. It was the sound of abandonment, and it was something everyone in the Underground was working to remove from the world. Every so often, a pony falls through the gaps in the Equestrian welfare net. All too often, the real numbers are much larger than the published statistics.
All too often, nopony cared.
Eoin knew exactly what was going on here. It seemed that even here in Ponyville, there was bound to be a pony left on the streets. And it was absurd! There was an orphanage just two blocks away, and yet...It seemed to Eoin that it was in need of the money more than they had thought.
The half-Deer picked apart the carefully constructed box home that was well-disguised as a simple stack. In the center was a little orange filly that was too small to be alone in the streets, curled up under a threadbare and dirty blanket. She couldn’t have been more than five!
Eoin made his decision, and he pulled off his cloak, a Lunar Beret, a copy of Nikhilus’ Novan symbol, adorning his mane. In one smooth movement, the filly was wrapped comfortably in the cloak, held close to his barrel with one arm. The filly accepted the stranger’s embrace and nuzzled down into the cloak, a little paper cap falling off to reveal a matted purple mane, almost the same hue as Eoin’s silver-streaked hair. It was as if…
“Eoin! The job’s done, we don’t need to be here anymore!”
The former smuggler glanced over his shoulder at the three Nightingales. “You don’t need to be here anymore, but I do.” He turned to show them the filly in his embrace, snoring softly and at peace.
At once, the Nightingales’ hearts melted, each one now knowing that the best smuggler in the Underground was now out.
The mare flicked her hood back, a bright blue coat and magenta eyes being overshadowed by her rainbow mane shone even in the shadows. “Y’know...she’s kinda cute. What’s her name?”
As if she was awake, the little pegasus sighed “Scoo...loo...” in reply.
Eoin chuckled softly, “Scootaloo, I guess. I live not too far from here, so I’ll take her home. I’ll sort out all the details later in the morning.”
Rainbow Dash scoffed, “You think you’re gonna watch over her yourself? I recently got assigned this area by the brass in Cloudsdale, so I’ll be here, too.”
“Yeah,” Eoin nodded, looking at the sleeping child with a smile. “Alright.”
[/HR]
“Hey, Pop! I’m off to the train station!” Scootaloo called to her adoptive father, who was sipping glumly at his coffee.
“You think you’re gonna leave without giving your old man a hug?” Eoin set his mug down on the table before limping to his daughter of eleven years. It had been six years since the night he found her, and it was like a dream come true for the filly. Since then, she had completely accepted where she came from, and even though Eoin had told her the truth, Scootaloo would always know him as her Pop.
The two fell into a hug that lasted a while, Eoin releasing a contented sigh. “What’s a man?” Scootaloo wondered aloud, the weird word sticking into her mind at an angle.
The little family pulled away from one another, and Eoin smiled almost sadly. “I’ll tell you when you get back from Canterlot.”
“Why not now?”
“Because if I tell you now, the picture won’t form properly,” the bookish stallion grinned.
“If you say so,” she said. “I’m gonna be late, so Iloveyouokaybye!”
Scootaloo darted out the door, wings fluttering excitedly. Eoin allowed himself one more smile as he gazed at the door happily. “They grow up so fast,” he said, remembering when he had found her in that alley as if it was just yesterday.
[/HR]
Applebloom was annoyed. Every question her sister asked was answered with a “yes” or a “no,” and while she could appreciate the concern, she had felt that it was wholly unnecessary.
“AJ, we’re jus’ goin’ ta Canterlot, ‘tain’t th’ Everfree!”
“Ah know, l’il sis, but it’sw mah job ta worry when yer goin’ outta town,” Applejack said as she straightened her sister’s bow for the umpteenth time. “Now, are yah sure that you’ve got everythin’?”
Applebloom rolled her eyes, “Yeah, AJ. Ah gots everythin’.”
“Good, now off with ya. don’t wanna be late for th’ trip,” Applejack gave her sister one final hug as the two said their goodbyes.
“Ah won’t!” Applebloom called as she walked towards the station just as Scootaloo zoomed into the CMC’s agreed upon meeting spot.
Sweetie Belle, who had just recently gotten over her cold, noticed her pegasus friend’s energy. “Why are you so excited, Scoots? I thought school trips bored you?”
Scootaloo shook her head, “Yeah, but not this one!”
“What makes it so different?” Applebloom piped in as she joined the circle.
“My dad says that we’re gonna meet an old friend of his when we reach the gardens!”
“So?” Sweetie prompted, eyebrow raised.
“So,” Scootaloo took a deep breath, “any friend of my dad’s is probably gonna be awesome!”
Applebloom frowned a little bit, “How d’ya know that? What if he isn’t?”
“I know because my dad has known Rainbow Dash for a long time, and he won’t not be awesome. I just know,” Scootaloo sat on her haunches, her mind completely made up.
Sweetie Belle sighed, “If you say so. I’ll still remain sceptical about all this, ‘cuz somethin’ smells kinda fishy.”
Applebloom tilted her head, “Wha’s septi-, uh, skeppi-, erm, that word, mean?”
“It means that she’s not going to believe what I say just because,” Scootaloo said in a bit of monotone. Then she noticed her friends looking at her like she had grown another leg where her Cutie Mark should be. “What?”
“Ah din’t think you was a dictionary.”
“Yeah, me neither. Where’d you learn that, anyhow?”
“My dad,” Scootaloo sighed. “He always says that ‘knowledge is power,’ and ‘last words are for fools who haven’t said enough.’ Yeah, he’s weird like that.”
“Oh, that old freak you call a ‘dad’?” The air immediately took on a sour note as Diamond Tiara cut in on the conversation. “My daddy told me that he was half-Deer. A freak, just like his blank-flank ‘daughter’.” Tiara had stabbed at Scootaloo’s pride, and twisted with that last, twisted emphasis.
“Yeah,” Silver Spoon, the pink filly’s lackey, added almost uselessly. “And I don’t think it helps that you’re adopted!”
“Hey, butt out, will ya? Ya don’t need ta be in our conversation, anyhow, so jus’ leave!” Applebloom said as she placed a comforting arm over her pegasus friend’s shoulders.
Scootaloo shrugged off her friend’s yellow hoof before she opened her mouth, “It doesn’t matter. I know I’m adopted, and I’m proud of it! That just means I have a dad that cares to tell me the truth, instead of pampering me like some prized doll!” Scootaloo started advancing on Diamond Tiara. “You’re not even worth it, you’ve been bullying us for years, just because we’re different?
“So what, if I’m a blank-flank. My dad told me that he hadn’t gotten his Cutie Mark until he already owned his own house. He says, ‘It matters not where you live, or what rank of life you hold, the evil or the blessing will reach you all.’”
That brought blank stares and weird facial expressions from all four of the others. They looked at one another for a clue, then turned to Scootaloo.
“It means that good or bad things will happen to you, no matter who you are,” she deadpanned. Realization dawned on the small group as they thought about it a little.
“Captain, thou art needed on the bridge,” Kevin, the shipboard AI, alerted over the intercom system, interrupting what was once a poker game.
Sinclair heaved a sigh as he stood up from the table, each member of Whiskey Team that was still conscious groaning in disappointment. The captain of the Winter Solstice made his way into the lift, a little stumble from a bit of drink in his gait. After the doors closed, the lift shot up to the CIC.
When the doors hissed open, the first thing the captain saw was a blue-green sphere, orbited by a single moon and...a tiny sun? “Kevin, would you mind telling us what the hell we are seeing right now?”
“Certainly, my captain,” the AI appeared on the holo-tank, his avatar a medieval knight sans helmet. “It appears to be a geocentric model of a solar system. The coordinates provided to us by the Estovakian Union are on the planet’s surface at longitude 19 degrees, twelve metres by latitude 210, six point four. Elevation is 192 metres above sea level, and the signal is clear.”
Sinclair nodded, “Yeah, I can see that. Would you like to explain the tiny sun orbiting the planet? That seems more important than the freaking location of a hunk of metal, don’t ya think?”
Kevin cleared his throat, “Ah, yes, captain. Our scans have only recently started, and have thus far shown inconclusive. However, it wouldst be most evident that this system should not exist.”
“Thank you, Kevin. Now, if you do come up with an answer for why there’s tiny sun orbiting that planet, I’d be very happy to know,” Sinclair snarked at the AI as he fell into his chair. “Let’s get our people on the ground around that beacon, might as well take a look at this random-ass system floating out in the middle of the Black while we’re here.”
“Captain, there are two more things I wouldst care to have thee hear,” Kevin started fondling his longsword’s pommel, a sign of agitation common in humans, but strange to see on an AI of high quality.
Sinclair looked up at the silvery-white knight, who had stepped off of the holo-tank and become life-sized. “One, there is a small settlement of xenos life forms almost two kilometres from the beacon. Two, a parallel signal of Novan beginnings has reappeared.”
“How? We didn’t send anything to this place. Certainly nothing that...would...” The captain looked confused for a moment before realization dawned on his face. “Kevin, what was one of the effects of Damon’s bomb, eighty-eight years ago?”
“Scientists have concluded that in the event of emission changes within the bomb’s core, the effects could range anywhere from differing size of the explosion, time-field manipulations, and, the least likely of all, spatial transference.”
“And who, exactly, did Agent Ottenok say had disappeared after the bomb malfunctioned?” Sinclair smirked, connecting the dots.
Sir Kevin smiled as the pieces fell into place. “Yes, Sir Benji. It is time to rescue one of our lost lambs.”
[/HR]
Scootaloo had just returned from her trip to Canterlot, and Eoin was waiting at the station for her. When she saw him standing there, she ran into his arms as fast as she could.
“So, how was it? Did you see Mr. N?” he asked when they pulled away.
Scootaloo scrunched her face, “I, I dunno. What did he look like?”
“I believe that he was one of the statues you had seen,” an old griffon that she hadn’t even noticed stepped into her vision, giving the little pegasus a fright. Noticing the discomfort he accidentally caused, he attempted to sway any ill intent, “Ah, forgive me, little one. My name is Major Greyfeather. I am one of your father’s friends, although we have not seen each other for great many years.” He spoke awkwardly in Equestrian, the language feeling heavy on his tongue after having not spoken it for a long time.
“You talk kinda funny,” Scootaloo said from just behind Eoin before he pulled her off of his leg. “And why was one of my dad’s friends a statue?”
Armet chuckled softly, this pegasus reminded him of his own daughter when she was younger. “Well, I have not spoken Equestrian for long time, so I am little bit rusty. As for statue, Nikhilus was your father’s mentor, and my school teacher, so we both know him well.”
“Scoots, Mr. N was the Statue of Treachery,” Eoin said bluntly.
Scootaloo blanched, “But that would make you as old as the Princess!”
“No no, Scootaloo,” Armet cut in. “Nikhilus was petrified only fifty-five years ago, not one thousand. Before he was imprisoned, he had been living thirty years all over planet before settling in Gilderheim, where he was teacher for thirteen years.”
“And for me, he had helped myself and many others start something special. Something I was a part of when I had found you in that alley.”
“But did he betray the Princess?” Scootaloo asked.
Both of the adults shook their heads. “No,” Eoin answered. “He was framed by a noblepony by the name ‘Blueblood.’ The entire family has made it their job to attempt to force the Princess to remove Nikhilus from their service as military advisor when tension between the Imperium and Equestria. This had been going on for years since Mr. N had arrived on this world from the Dragon Badlands, though the only source we have of that particular tidbit of information comes from our griffon friend here.”
Armet nodded before continuing the tale, “Nikhilus promised me that he would tell me the story of the Badlands, but never did. I am simply waiting for miracle to happen, which I can know full story.”
“Why did the Bluebloods hate Mr. N, anyway? He didn’t do anything wrong,” Sweetie Belle decided to show herself to the group, a guilty Applebloom in tow.
“Couldn’t resist eavesdropping, I see?” Eoin said. “Don’t look so guilty, I was hoping you too would join us. Well, where were we? Yes, the Bluebloods. After Nikhilus was found by the Princess shortly after he had freed a bunch of ponies from diamond dog slavers. Of course, the way he had dealt with the dogs was less than savory, the Princess felt that she needed to thank this strange new creature. She brought him to Canterlot in order to ask him questions, like who he was, what he was, where he came from.
“Soon after, he had proved great worth to the Princess. Enough so, that when he pointed out the massive flaws in the Royal and National Guards, she appointed him the Primary Commandant. That’s a title that means you call most of the shots in the military, and only a majority vote by the Generals’ Board can veto the Commandant’s ruling.” When he turned to Armet, he had a look. Then Eoin turned back to the Crusaders. “Basically, if a lot of people say no, the Commandant can’t do anything.
“So, naturally, they say ‘no.’ A lot. Virtually everything that Nikhilus suggested that would be for the interest of Equestria was vetoed, which included better medical supplies that didn’t rely on magic, new training regimes for the troops, and better equipment than what they had. Because of that, the Guards have all of the same stuff for almost one hundred years, which is absolutely absurd. I doubt any of them would have a clue what the gryphons have, but that’s likely because they actually listened to Nikhilus when he switched sides.”
Armet off-handedly smoothed out his vest, “Colonel Nikhilus was great leader, and better tactician. Every griffon listened to him, and followed his orders to the letter. Many scientific advancements were because of him. I would think that many ponies would think they would be on alien planet if they came to Imperium, with Yadrolev, Falke and Gethrenia being most particular.”
“Those are three of the Great Holds that make up the Imperium, in case you were wondering. I’d go into a lecture on each of them, but then we’d get off topic, and nothing would get done. Anyway, so Mr. N goes to the Imperium, since now there’s a bounty on him. He asks them for asylum, and they, having heard the stories of the legendary Spectre, grant it on one condition: he does exactly the same thing he did for the ponies. They also asked him, after he accepted, if he could share inside knowledge on Equestria.
“Naturally, he refused, claiming that it went against everything that he stood for, because Treason is what he calls one of the ‘Forbidden Articles.’ When he had started the Lunar Underground, he founded it on the same six Principles that are upheld in his Novan Republics: Respect, Responsibility, Integrity, Courtesy, Courage, and Honor. Treason breaks four of these Principles, and anything that breaks just one Principle is classified as Forbidden.
“So, with how adamant the man was with following his people’s laws by the book, do you think he was capable of Treason with a capital ‘T’?”
[/HR]
It had been a whole week since Discord had broken free, and had been returned to his statuesque state in Canterlot. Shortly after the Princess had replaced him on his granite pedestal smack dab in the middle of the courtyard, the statue across from him regained all of his colors, which was nothing but black, and now suffered from post-freedom hangover.
Every pitiable attempt at comforting the Spectre went unheard.
“Dissy?” Nikhilus groaned through his faceplate as he held his head in his hands.
Yes, my dear, dear friend?
“Two things. One, why didn’t you tell me about this? And two, how did you not be like this?”
Because I’m a being of legitimate chaos, not a shaved ape-thing like you.
“Fuck...off.” From there, he stood up, just after the medical system in his suit reactivated and pumped painkillers and endorphins throughout his body.
Aw, does the big baby need a hug? Oh, no! Not from me, I’m too scared! Discord needlessly pantomimed being afraid of something, his arms outstretched to futilely stop something.
“No, I need a stiff drink, and maybe even a soft body to snuggle up to,” if Discord could make bedroom eyes, he certainly would. “No, not you. A human body, my wife in particular.”
Discord metaphorically gasped, as he literally couldn’t. I didn’t know you were married! Why didn’t you tell me?
“Because of reasons that I can’t think of right now. Besides, there are more important things to focus on.”
Like what?
“Like that dropship coming down here,” he said, pointing up, and lo and behold!
[/HR]
My, what a beautiful day, thought Princess Celestia. The sun was shining, birds chirped just outside on the dining room balcony, and best of all, she was free of all political matters for the day. In order to “make up for the past,” Luna had offered to take over the Day Court, if only for today. And so, thus Celestia had the entire day to herself and one little guest.
“So, you think you are the best of the best, eh?” Celestia paced back and forth like a Drill Instructor, commanding enormous respect with every step she took. She had learned this from Nikhilus, blast his traitorous soul.
The “recruit” remained where it was.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to see about that, Banana Creme,” she growled viciously enough to turn most ponies.
The recruit had shown unwavering resolve.
Celestia stood abruptly, no emotion adorning her face. “I suppose you will have to prove your worth,” she then turned her sights on the next recruit, which was a twin to the one before. “You! Do you think you’ve got what it takes to be Equestria’s best pie?!”
This one crumbled under the pressure, a dollop of whipped cream falling to the tabletop.
“Hah,” Celestia crowed triumphantly at her success. “I had thought as much. You may be fit to serve my sister, but certainly not me. Dismissed!”
The light grey pony chef that had made the pie took the reject, depressed that he had failed the Princess. The poofy-maned pink pony next to him bounced up and down in excitement, her bubble-blue eyes sparkling with joy, “Yesyesyesyesyes! I did it! I did it! Didja see me do it? Didja? Didja?!”
Celestia chuckled softly at her loyal subject’s antics, “Yes, Pinkamena, I did see it. I was there, after all. Now then, would you care to partake in this truly wondrous pie you have made on this fine day?”
“Oh, sure, Princess! I can’t wait to taste the creamy, bananany, fla-a-a-vor! Mmmm,” the pink pony’s eyes drooped in imagined pleasure, drool beginning to leak onto the floor in a gratuitous puddle.
Celestia closed the Element of Laughter’s mouth with her magic before clearing away the viscous saliva with a clean towel, “Yes, Pinkie Pie. It does smell rather, scrumptious.”
“Forgive me, Princess, but I believe that will have to wait,” one of the guards interrupted Celestia as she began dishing out Pinkie’s 18” banana creme pie.
“Pray tell, my guard?”
The guard said nothing. He simply pointed up and out of the east-side window.
“It couldn’t possibly be...too….bad,” Celestia trailed off as she stared at the descending metal contraption only a dozen metres from the window. Her eyes fell down to estimate where it would land, and what she saw shocked her even further.
“Ooh, shiny! It looks like a UFO! I hope I get to make some new friends! I wonder if they’re nice? Are they mean? I hope they’re not mean, that wouldn’t be nice! Oh, what am I saying? Of course it wouldn’t be nice, because they’d be mean! Wait. If they’re mean, are they here to steal ponies’ brains?! We need to stop them! But first, I’m hungry. Om nom nom nom...”
All around the smoking caldera were dragons. Some were red with great, sloping horns and gold coins stuck in their scales as they napped. Some were blue, with a thundering horn spearing into the air, ears unfurled as they basked in the heavy sulfuric heat. These were but a few of the sheer amount of dragons in this volcanic chain, and all around the adults were whelps and youth that frolicked and played.
Many of them were very attentive while the whelps played in the lava, but none of them were paying heed to the slight shimmering of air at the summit of a thirteen metre-tall granite hoodoo. Shortly after that, everything happened at once. A flash of blues and greens and reds tore the sky itself asunder as the strength of an antimatter charge ripped into the fabric of another universe than its world of origin. If the blinding light show wasn’t enough, the resounding cracks and snapping of the pillar would surely have attracted the attention of anything from leagues around.
And, if one would listen closely, they could faintly hear the mechanically filtered screaming of a man that was hurtling at high speeds into the atmosphere, all while on fire. Surely this had to be too rare an event, to be ignored with such gusto! Nope, nothing out of the ordinary, whatsoever.
The adult dragons took one glance at the resulting flash of light, almost ignoring the destruction of the hoodoo in the caldera, and went back to sleep. Just another strange happenstance for the younger drakes to be distracted by.
Such was not the case, however, for the Great Wyrm. As all dragons know, the chain of command should be judged on which dragon is the strongest of the thunder, be it a clique ordered around by a brutish young drake that thinks with his stomach, or a Gathering Storm formed by the Elder dragons. The Great Wyrm did not belong to any thunder, and he had thought it pitiable that the great Dragon Race let itself devolve into such a barbaric state.
To the rest of his kind, he is treated as an outcast and a traitor. The Great Wyrm would often muse, “I have remained true to my race. It is you that be named vax to the Dov.” Of course, his lesser brethren showed only scorn to the peaceful-by-nature dragon. Hence why they named him “Wyrm.” In their recent culture, or lack thereof, the word had become an insult. But for the ancient dragon, it was a badge of honor; it was rare for a kind dragon to live to such an age, as his more evil kin would devour any whelp that did not show their evil nature from the egg.
So, it would only seem natural that the massive white dragon would study the event from his perch on a neighboring, long-dormant volcano, where the caldera has since solidified and eroded to a somewhat flat summit. “Tiid klo ul!” the dragon stayed where he was, enjoying the light show in slow motion, using the power of the Thu’um granted to all dragonkind, but known to only those that call themselves Dovah.
As the Great Wyrm watched, he saw a shape appear in the warped air of the explosion, watching as the magic put it back together, atom by atom. He was curious, now, and estimated that the magical shockwave would propel the shape, which quickly became the rouge form of one of those irritating diamond dogs. It was at that moment that the Wyrm prepared to rush to its rescue if it couldn’t fly.
He watched as the granite spire, for he could see the tip of it from where he was perched, crumble and break apart. The creature was propelled into the air with great force, flames and smoke trailing from behind. The Great Wyrm almost sighed, but he would save this being, and learn what he can from it. As his Thu’um dissipated and time returned to its normal pace, the Great Wyrm shouted, “Wuld nah kest!” and shot forward with great speed, his Thu’um carrying him halfway to the flailing man.
The Great Wyrm soared through the air with but a few powerful beats of his strong, pale wings, and easily found himself under the man in the air. As if sensing the dragon beneath him, the man turned himself in the air, inexplicably slowing his descent a considerable amount, and gracelessly landed between two of the Great Wyrm’s spines, which were easily longer than the man was tall. The Great Wyrm expressed his mirth with a rumble, “Drem yol lok, greetings. How kind of you to, ah, drop in.”
“Thanks!” Nikhilus called to the massive dragon, hoping his words pierced the howl of the crosswinds. “I honestly wasn’t expecting to see a dovah, especially one so large,” he chuckled almost helplessly as he curled one arm around a spine.
“I see that you are familiar with the Dov. Zu’u Kahdremonik.”
“Nice to meet you, Kahdremonik. I am called Nikhilus. I hope you’ll pardon me if I don’t know much of the Dovahzul, I’m still learning. What are you doing away from Nirn?” Nikhilus tried breaking the ice with the dragon, a small, irrational part of him hoping that he won’t be eaten.
The Spectre could feel the anger radiating from the dragon. “Alduin. He tried to kill me, but my friend, Paarthurnax, interfered. I was but a whelp then, and I have been here for nearly three thousand years.”
“Well, then you’ll be happy to know that Alduin was slain,” the human offered as he carefully made his way to Kahdremonik’s head for a better vantage.
“Hah,” the Wyrm scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see his qoth, his tomb.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely possible. The Dovahkiin claimed that his body disintegrated in Sovngarde after his defeat. If I can find a way to get you home, then you can ask Paarthurnax yourself. He resides on the Throat of the World.”
Kahdremonik slowed his flight in order to land at the mouth of his cavern, “Well whatever the truth may be, I have been here for as long as I can remember. If Alduin is dead, I would happily return to Nirn. But for now, I will teach you what I know of this world, and in exchange, you may tell me how far my world has come.”
[/HR]
“I no sure we should be here, Rex,” a German Shepherd murmured to a black and grey husky.
“Shut up, Hunter. Dragon is out, so we go take gold and be rich!” the bipedal dog growled to his equally bipedal companion. They were both wearing a set of bone armor, the pinkish-white material slightly ribbed with gnaw marks from teeth and flint alike. The cloths were black in color, and the dogs wore skulls as headdresses. If a human historian were to see them, he would likely compare the armor to a bastardized set from ancient Rome.
The dog called Hunter whined slightly, but reluctantly followed Rex, shifting a lightly rusted sword that would look more at home on a wheat farm, and a sleeker one that looked better with the outfit, but was somewhat crude in the dog’s paw. It bore dents and chips along its blade edge, and appeared as if it hadn’t been sharpened or given an oil-bath in decades.
The cave was less a cave and more of a sinkhole. Originally, it was a nexus of lava tubes from the volcano underneath, but it had gone extinct two thousand years ago, making for an amazing labyrinth of seven-metre tall natural tunnels weaving throughout the structure of the mountain with a massive shaft near the center leading down through the planet’s crust. Anyone who enjoys spelunking would marvel and awe at the sight of such a complex, as seeing one in person is a one in a hundred million chance. The diamond dogs ignored it, however, as they see tunnels whenever they dig.
What they did not ignore was the utter lack of treasure that is normally associated with dragons. Rex vocalized his fury by shouting, “Where is treasure?! Where is gold?! Dragon cheat us!”
“Stiildus, mal dok,” the dragon in question descended through the large mouth of the sinkhole. “Be calm. The treasure is here, but not in the form you may think.”
“You lie!” Rex howled in rage, drawing his battered claymore in one paw. “You have no gold, so have no treasure!”
Nikhilus chose that moment to slide off of Kahdremonik’s neck, hitting the floor with a clunk. “He’s talking about knowledge, that’s the treasure.”
The dogs were stunned at the sight of the human. Rex turned angry, pounding the ground with his feet. Hunter’s reaction was the opposite of his friend’s, and almost seemed to drool at the prospect of learning new things...Wait, he was drooling, if the slick, wet plop on the gneisse floor was any indication.
“Well, at least one of you is happy,” the Spectre needlessly pointed out.
The Great Wyrm nodded sagely, “Yes, I shall enjoy teaching this one. Now, what are you called?”
Hunter was the one to answer while Rex was absolutely fuming, venting anger by slamming his blade into the volcanic ground repeatedly. “I am Hunter, that my pack-brother Rex. We come look for treasure. Rex think books not treasure, but I think they are! Will you show me books?” the shepherd answered excitedly, his wagging tail somehow making him appear cute, despite his rather gruesome attire.
“Of course, Hunter. You, as well as your pack brother, are welcome to learn from my collection. You need only ask,” was Kahdremonik’s rumbling reply.
[/HR]
“Damn, what the Lord Marshal wouldn’t annihilate just to get this stuff,” Nikhilus muttered in awe.
Kahdremonik craned his neck to peer at the human, “While that is surely...unsettling, I would more than happily share this knowledge with your Lord Marshal. Of course, I would much prefer that he ask me himself, rather than storm my home and plunder this library of mine.”
The dragon and company of three continued to walk, or lumber, through the tunnels, which were lined with carved in shelves. The shelves in turn, were filled with books and scrolls, and when Nikhilus pulled one from a shelf, “The Biography of Star-Swirl the Bearded,” found that they were likely all in English or Dovahzul.
“In this library of mine, I hold more than seven hundred thousand written works, not including their translations. There is no other place in this world like it, I can assure you,” the Great Wyrm rumbled with pride, proving the first part of his name true. “I have, through painstaking try after try, managed to create copies of every single scroll and tome in the Royal Library of Canterlot, including every spell and magical discovery made by Star-Swirl the Bearded.”
Hunter wasn’t paying much attention to the dragon’s words, and was more focused on almost drooling over the vast wealth of knowledge of this world. Having traveled there himself, Nikhilus could claim that this library could rival that of Hermaeus Mora’s Apocrypha, but that would not be entirely true. Perhaps the equivalent to one Black Book?
As for Rex, the husky was still angry, but more bored than he was three hours ago, when the tour of the library had started. “What does books have do with us?” he growled belligerently.
Hunter snapped out of his stupor to look at his comrade, “Books have knowing to share, and me want know what books say!”
“That is a noble want, little one. To lust for knowledge is a wonderful thing to have, and I am rather happy to have someone to teach all I know. Perhaps you have the Thu’um?” Kahdremonik turned to Nikhilus, “You are knowledgeable of the Dov, and of some of our tongue. I could teach you to use your Voice in the way we Dov are able to.”
Nikhilus nodded half-heartedly, “While that is a nice offer, Kahdremonik, I’m afraid I cannot accept. I need to know where in the universe I am before making any long-term commitments, and it is clear to me that you’ll far survive me.”
“Vahzah, true. My offer still remains, should you ever decide to seek it.”
“Thank you, diiv,” Nikhilus conceded. The group walked in silence, save for the dogs arguing over the worth of books, with a few shared glances between jul ahrk dovah, the latter seeming to know what the former was thinking, despite the helmet adorning his head.
[/HR]
Royal Archives, Present Day
“Such a shame, that the malkey have not progressed much further in the previous century in either magic or science,” a large frost white thestral with a stone grey mane and tail rumbled, a black rune emblazoned on his flanks. His cold, blue eyes shown in the dark, the vertical slits dilated in the ambient light of the castle library as he searched every shelf for something new to record for his own library in the Badlands.
Kahdremonik, known under his alias of Frost Wing in the Lunar Guard, was recently accepted into the Magic Council for his extensive knowledge of runes, despite not being a unicorn. Any rune in the world, especially the ones found in the Badlands, was Frost Wing’s expertise. When he had first made his appearance in Equestria nineteen months ago, shortly after perfecting a shape-changing Thu’um, the Royal Guard had been dispatched to locate any thestral that was of age, and enlist them in the Lunar Guard for the returning Princess Luna.
While Kahdremonik appreciated the new perks of being a guard, he had been forced to reveal his true shape to Princess Luna when the Thu’um had worn off in the middle of Night Court. While it was not too much of a problem, due to very few ponies ever being awake at the time it happened, he had almost begged the Princess of the Night and his fellow guards to speak nothing of it to Celestia and the Day Guard. Frost Wing’s true identity is now a closely guarded secret of Luna and her fifty thestrals.
During the many nights when there was no Night Court assigned for the evening, Kahdremonik would teach the Princess how to harness her own Thu’um, and because it involved shouting, she had taken to it rather quickly. Her late-night practice of the Thu’um with her dragon companion had broken a few windows, but they were quickly repaired with a bit of magic here and there. And, as a happy side effect of being near a dragon often, the Night Guard was learning the tongue, picking up some phrases on occasion.
In addition, with Luna’s return, magical research had picked up from “Jack-Shit” to “Actually Something,” in the terms of one particular human that the dragon knew. Science had also started to make a fair amount of prominence, as well, when Kahdremonik had gotten some ideas for improving many of the technological items the ponies had. So, by using his own research on spectral projection, he had managed to create a visual communicator that would link up one enchanted and alchemically altered crystal to another as long as they had the correct gigaHertz frequency, as Nikhilus referred to it in his introduction of his helmet communicator’s functions.
“Yes, it is rather pitiful, isn’t it?” Princess Cadence interrupted Frost Wing’s abstracted train of thought. “I would like to know why you referred to us as ‘malkey.’”
The dragon in disguise nodded, “Malkey is what the Dov call your people. In our tongue, it means ‘little horse,’ but I would not have expected you to know that.”
Cadence raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean, ‘our tongue?’ It was my belief that the thestrals, or Dov, as you call yourself, shared the same tongue as the rest of ponykind? Am I wrong in that assumption?”
Kahdremonik swore silently. He had already come close to giving himself away. Might as well roll with it, he thought. “No, your highness. You are not incorrect in the assumption that we share the Equestrian language,” he had carefully thought about that particular sentence in order to confirm the pink princess’ inquiry.
It appeared to have worked, as Cadence smiled in relief, “Ah, good. I was afraid I had broken some sort of taboo.”
“No, my dear princess,” Frost Wing shook his head. “You do not need to worry about that. If you do something to offend me, you would be dead before you realized it,” he finished in a cheerful tone. That last comment had stopped Cadence cold, both afraid for herself, worried for the thestral’s sanity, and angry at his nonchalant threat toward an Equestrian Princess. It wasn’t until he turned back with a twinkle in his draconic eye that assuaged her worry, but it still hadn’t stopped her from treading eggshells around the Night Guard from now on.
Kahdremonik turned around to leave, but stopped suddenly. Perhaps I should reveal myself to her, he thought. When Princess Cadence waved a hoof in his face, asking if he was okay, the dragon had been standing in the same pose for a few minutes with the pink princess attempting elicit a response. “Aalkos gaav ahk wuth fah daar,” he rumbled as he thought about how often he had been getting distracted by his own thoughts.
“I, I’m sorry?” Cadence prompted.
Kahdremonik breathed in deeply, now appearing more draconic than before. The Thu’um is waning, he thought as he felt his ears harden into his original horns. “We need to leave the Archives, go to an open area, such as the courtyard. Now.” And he stormed away, his pace a canter, yet moving as if he were simply walking.
“What? Wait!” Cadence called to the dragon before galloping to catch up. Is it just me, or did he seem bigger than he was a moment ago? “Where are we going?”
Kahdremonik gave no answer before he jumped through the open window at the end of the corridor. Cadence could have sworn she saw a scaly tail instead of hair before he disappeared from sight. Looking around in a bit of dismay, she checked to see if anyone was around before she followed him out to the Royal Gardens below, completely ignoring the descending human dropship above the statues.
